


Breakfast on Whitsun

by musicforwolves



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst and Humor, Late-night movie, Long-Term Relationship(s), Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforwolves/pseuds/musicforwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ophelia wants to continue the Whitsun weekend tradition that she and Hamlet started the year before, but she has some specific rules this time. Hamlet's not quite okay with it, and Horatio's more put upon than he usually is (and that's saying something). Still, nothing a few glasses of wine can't fix.<br/>Pairing: H2O; rated explicit for the final scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast on Whitsun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secondarysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondarysin/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, my Bard-lover friend! Hope this is to your liking.

“It’s Whitsun in a week,” Hamlet said, sitting with Ophelia at breakfast. They weren’t sitting together, as was often the way: Ophelia was back and forth from the table, finding her bag, finding the yogurt in the fridge, coming back to the table and then immediately going back to the kitchen to pick up a spoon. Hamlet was the same, taking a mouthful of toast then moving to sit on the couch to tie his sneakers. He made the observation about Whitsun idly, not remembering its significance at all. He looked up to see Ophelia, unusually still, looking at him. She rested her hands on her knees and just sat, watching, the way she did whenever Hamlet forgot something. “What?” he asked.  
Ophelia smiled. “And? Are we going to continue our Whitsun tradition?”  
“What tra-” Hamlet began, before he remembered. “Oh,” he said. “I don’t know.”  
Ophelia was up again, back to the kitchen, picking up the teapot and coming back to the living room to fill her mug. “If we are, it’s my turn to pick the rules. Mind you, it’s your decision totally, I leave this entirely in your hands.” She gave Hamlet a look that suggested the decision was in his hands only if he wanted to risk never getting laid ever again.  
While Hamlet may have loved Ophelia, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of ceding to her demands immediately. Instead, he stood up and zipped up his sweatshirt, before leaning in to kiss her. She gave a quick yelp of protest and spilled tea across the table, but was still smiling when he broke the kiss.  
“I’ll see you tonight. Want me to walk you home?” he asked.  
Ophelia gaped in mock offense. “Hey, you didn’t say yes!” she said, then nodded anyway. “Yes, I would, but don’t change the subject!”  
“You want my answer? My answer is ‘Sure’,” he said, “but it depends on what the rules are.”  
“Well,” Ophelia began, “I won’t be working Whitsun Monday this time around, so I’ll have the full weekend off. I want it to be a full night, none of this 'two hours and then off you go' crap.” She mopped the tea from the table and then went to wash the cloth off in the kitchen sink. “As well as that…”

\---

“Ophelia wants to have another threesome,” Hamlet said, looking up from his sandwich. There was a long pause while Horatio stared at him.  
“Say that again?” Horatio eventually asked, washing his burger down with a mouthful of beer. The shadows of the afternoon were growing long around them as they sat outside the cafe, and Horatio had pulled the collar of his sweatshirt up around his neck to keep the chill off him. “I don’t think I quite caught that,” he said, faintly amused by the glow on Hamlet’s cheeks.  
“Ophelia. Another threesome. Apparently we made it a tradition.” Hamlet shrugged. “I don’t really remember doing that, but she wants one.”  
“Hmm,” Horatio said, “Sounds like fun. The last one went alright, didn’t it?”  
“I guess?” Hamlet mumbled into his glass. “It wasn’t bad. Rosalind was nice enough, but I don’t think Ophelia was into her as much as she was into Ophelia. Oh, well. She’s taken care of that for me.”  
“Huh?”  
“She says it has to be with a guy this time,” Hamlet said. There was another long pause.  
Horatio cleared his throat uncomfortably while a young woman walked past, three small kids in tow. When they were out of earshot, he took another mouthful of beer. “And are you going to?”  
“Yeah. I mean, I think so,” Hamlet said. “I’m not sure. She wants it, so I want to do it for her.” He paused. “I can’t think of a single bi guy I’d find even remotely attractive, though.”  
Horatio sat and thought for a moment. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and sat for a moment, listing names on his napkin, considering them, then crossing them off in turn. Hamlet sat quietly, pretending to be interested in the rest of his sandwich. Finally, Horatio looked up.  
“You could try Rosen and Guild,” he said, finally.  
“I could?” Hamlet asked, remembering the couple. Both lanky, Rosencrantz constantly plugged into his PSP, Guildenstern trying out a beard that threatened to consume his face. “Can’t picture it,” he finally said. “Too many elbows.”  
Horatio laughed. “I didn’t mean you should fuck them,” he said, dropping his voice on the word ‘fuck’ and glancing embarrassedly around. “I meant that they’re involved in the university queer circle. They might know someone you’d like.”  
Hamlet took another bite of his sandwich. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” he admitted. “Man, it’s so… new, you know? I mean, I’m okay with it, but…”  
Horatio smiled. “I know, Ham. Well, I can’t say I know exactly, but the general sentiment, yes. Just think of it as another thing to add to your repertoire.” He finished his beer and motioned to the waiter, but fixed Hamlet with a perceptive look. “You should talk to her if it’s bugging you.”

\---

Through the front window of the florist’s, Ophelia saw Hamlet and Horatio approaching. Hamlet looked through and knocked twice, his face breaking into a grin as he saw her arranging orchids. Horatio’s face appeared around the edge of the window too, and he waved.  
“You almost done?” Hamlet asked as he came into the store.  
“Just finishing up,” Ophelia said, looping ribbon around the bouquet. “Register's checked; dead ones from yesterday have been tossed out. Could you give me a hand? Could you wheel the front display around to the back of the shop? I’ve just got to send this one out for delivery and then I can close up.”  
Hamlet nodded and headed back out onto the street again. Ophelia watched him for a while, cursing and tugging at the display, while she boxed up the bouquet. “How have you been, Horatio?” she asked.  
“Not too bad,” Horatio said. “Work’s good, I suppose, and the university has extended my contract, so I guess I’ll be there for a little while longer.” He traced a finger through a few drops of water on the counter. “And you? Hamlet told me about your plans for the weekend.”  
Ophelia looked up, a little alarmed. “Oh, he did? And did you have any advice for him?”  
Horatio shook his head. “Just that he should do it. He wants to, I think. If he can find the right guy, that is.”  
“Know anyone?”  
“I told him to talk to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,” Horatio said. “I don’t know anyone myself who would be up for it - not many guys among my friends who go both ways. They’re all one or the other.”  
Ophelia smiled. “I should have known he’d talk to you about it. He tells you everything. I thought you’d be against it, I guess.”  
“Why’s that?” Horatio raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem offended, so Ophelia thought for a moment.  
“Oh, all your ‘be true to yourself’ stuff. My dad says that sort of thing a lot, and you’re sensible like he is.” She considered the matter a little more. “Come to think of it, you’re a bit more fun than he would be. I don’t think he would spend an entire summer drinking in every town in Italy.”  
Horatio laughed. “I wouldn’t turn up a threesome if one presented itself, that’s true. But Ham’s creating a lot of angst for himself about this, as usual.”  
“You’re sweet to be worried about him,” Ophelia said, “but he’ll figure it out. That’s why he likes you so much. One of the reasons.”  
Hamlet came back into the store, wiping his forehead. “All done,” he grinned, “although I think I dented a bunch of… hydrangeas? Maybe. Something like that. I put them in the water with the rest of them.”  
“Thanks, honey. Everything’s sorted,” Ophelia said, ducking into the back of the shop quickly to double-check. “Want to come back for a drink, Horatio?”  
“Nah, I’ve got some reading to finish,” Horatio said. “Besides, I’ve had enough of this Dane for one day.” He nudged Hamlet. “I’ll catch you later on, yeah? How’s Thursday sound?”  
“Sounds good,” Hamlet said. “I’ll try and catch either Rosen or Guild Monday.”  
Horatio nodded, kissed Ophelia on the cheek, and left. At first, Ophelia found herself staring after him, and then she realised Hamlet was too, with a look on his face that suggested he was just staring into space, not thinking of or considering the prospect of anything. Too awkward, she thought. Best not to say anything.

\---

“He’s serious,” Guildenstern said, looking at Hamlet in disbelief. He turned around and poked Rosencrantz in the back of the head, repeating, a little louder, “He’s serious.”  
“Serious?” Rosencrantz said, reluctantly turning away from his game after watching his avatar shoot several vampire thralls in the face. “About what?”  
“About dipping his toe in the waters of man-love,” Guildenstern said, turning back to Hamlet. “Aren’t you?”  
Hamlet groaned and refilled his glass. He should have had this conversation on neutral ground, rather than having dinner with these two madmen in their own house. They kept bringing out new bottles of wine, too. Finally, he nodded. “Yep. For Ophelia.”  
Guildenstern shook his head mockingly. “Hamlet, Hamlet, Hamlet. You shouldn’t do this just for a girl. A guy has to do this sort of thing because he wants two dicks in his bed, not because his girlfriend does.”  
“And you’d know?” Rosencrantz asked, tapping away at his controller.  
“Hey!” Guildenstern protested. “I’ve dated women.”  
“One date per woman doesn’t count,” Rosencrantz said, giggling to himself. “At least I’ve had a steady girlfriend.” He held out his empty wine glass, but didn’t turn away from the screen.  
Guildenstern refilled the glass. “You were delusional,” he said, pouting. “Glad I got you out of that... phase. Anyway, Hamlet, I know a guy. His name’s Knud. A little stocky, but I think you could use a guy with a bit of meat. A nice cushion for when you have an existential crisis in the middle of sex. ‘Oh, no, how can I like this? I’m meant to hate all mankind!’” He laughed. “Sorry, I'm kidding. But you can’t go into this thinking it’ll be nothing. If you care about Ophelia, you have to care about the guy too.”  
Hamlet nodded. “Yeah. Hey, give me this guy’s number. I’ll ask him out for a drink or something first, break the ice. I suppose I should if I’m meant to be making out with him this weekend?”  
Rosencrantz sat bolt upright. “This weekend?” he blurted, turning around. “Actually… no, never mind. Knud would go for that.” He checked his watch. “Guildenstern, don’t forget you’ve got work.”  
“You’re right. Want to see our good friend out first?”  
“But, but, but…” Rosencrantz said, gesturing to the game. He sighed. “Fine, but only because you’ll make it up to me later.” He got up and kissed Guildenstern on the cheek, burying his nose in Guildenstern's beard (a beard which, Hamlet had to admit, didn't look quite as bad as it used to, even if it did make him seem like he was hiding behind a hedge). “See?” he pointed out to Hamlet. “That’s what you have to want to do with the guy.”  
Hamlet shook his head. “It’s a once-a-year thing, not a romance to last the ages. Give me the number.”

\---

“And how were they?” Ophelia asked the next morning, wiping the flour from her hands onto the front of her dress.  
Hamlet shrugged. “Sickeningly adorable, as always. Rosencrantz was constantly finishing Guildenstern’s sentences. I’d forgotten that those two were like that.” He poured more coffee into Ophelia’s mug. “They also wouldn’t stop flirting.”  
“With each other?”  
“With each other, with me, with the taxi driver. I think Rosencrantz was making eyes at him. Couldn’t be sure.”  
Ophelia sat down at the end of the table and pulled the mug towards her, sitting with her eyes closed, quite still in the last of the afternoon sun. From where he was sitting, Hamlet could see one of the streaks of flour on her dress. It seemed to curve with her thigh, and Hamlet was reminded of how many expectations he had had of those thighs when they had first started dating. He’d gotten more accustomed to them since, but there was still a thrill of anticipation whenever he saw those thighs bare. She was looking at him now, watching him watching her. She seemed to unfold now, the arm crossed across her stomach now stretching across the table. She idly turned the coffee mug in circles on the table, and to Hamlet every dull stone-on-stone sound seemed an invitation. He took a gulp of his coffee. “How long until the muffins are done?”  
She smiled broadly at him. “About twenty minutes. Is that long enough for you?” She crossed her legs and Hamlet jittered a little inwardly.  
“I think I can manage that,” he said, shifting back in his chair. He looked briefly towards the kitchen, but by the time he turned back Ophelia was already up, kissing him long and passionately.  
She drew back and looked at him curiously, then nodded, as if she’d just evaluated him in an instant. “You’ve got until that timer goes off to get me off. I hope you’re up for that challenge.”  
Hamlet nodded eagerly, and knelt on the floor in front of Ophelia’s chair. “Just tell me when I’m doing it right.”

Afterwards, Hamlet sat in the sun, resting his head against Ophelia’s knee. He licked his lips contentedly. “They gave me a number for a friend of theirs,” he said. “I should probably call him.”  
Ophelia looked down. “What’s he like?” she asked.  
“Don’t know,” Hamlet muttered. “They didn’t say anything about him, just that he might be up for a threesome with some total strangers.”  
“Huh.” Ophelia frowned. “There’s nobody else you could ask? We’d meet him first, obviously, but you don’t seem sure.”  
Hamlet thought for a moment. “Maybe Guildenstern, but it'd be like kissing a blackberry bush… No,” he said, finally. “Nobody else.”  
Ophelia got up, shaking Hamlet off and pulling her dress back down around her knees. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she said. “It’s nothing. It was just an idea.”  
Hamlet clambered to his feet, pulling his boxers up as he did so. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll call him. I want to try this. I want you to have a good time. I enjoyed myself the first time around; it’s your turn. If he’s interested, we can meet him, then decide.”  
Ophelia kissed him, but he nudged her away, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Go on. Muffins.”

\---

“You look like a wreck,” Horatio observed, handing Hamlet a mug of tea.  
Hamlet cradled it while looking for a place to sit. He scanned the room, looking past the piles of photocopies of Greek plays, before he found an unoccupied chair next the window. It would be unoccupied, at least, once he shooed Horatio’s cat off it.  
When he had finally relaxed, resting his mug on the windowsill, he finally nodded. “Yeah, I do. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t call Knud.” He related the story of his dinner with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern while Horatio organised the piles of paper scattered around the room and sat down in the armchair opposite Hamlet.  
Horatio chewed on his lip. “I don’t really know what to tell you,” he observed, finally. “I mean, it seems like you want to do this, but not with a stranger. It’s something you feel like you’re supposed to do, but you’re not sure if it’s right. Right?” He scratched at the nape of his neck thoughtfully.  
“Yeah,” Hamlet said. “I mean, I’m not opposed to it. At first, I just wanted it because she wanted it, but now… now I want to see if it’s something I’d enjoy. I haven’t really examined myself that much. And yet… Rosen and Guild said that if I was going to do it, it had to be with someone I liked. And they’re right, I know. But getting that connection is hard. Impossible to do within a week. If she’d asked me six months ago, I might have had time to meet someone and sort this all out, but now? No way.”  
“Hey, Ham?” Horatio asked.  
“I know,” Hamlet continued, “it’s not her fault. I can’t help but blame her. Blame myself. Why am I so worked up about this?”  
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Horatio said, moving to the edge of his chair. “Come here and kiss me.”  
He sat there like that for a moment, until Hamlet finally stuttered out a response that was effectively only a confused noise. “What?” he asked, regaining his composure.  
Horatio sat back. “Think about this rationally,” he said. “Like I said, you want to do this with someone you know.”  
“You want to fuck me and Ophelia?” Hamlet asked.  
“I didn’t say that,” Horatio responded, a little testily. He relented and tried again. “Sorry. I just meant that if you wanted to do this, more than you wanted to let Ophelia down, I’d take one for the team. Face it, I’m your best friend. I love you, Hamlet, as much as I can love a guy. If I was in your position, you’re the only guy I’d trust enough to ask.” He looked down at his cat, who was pawing at his calf. “Stop that, Xerxes. Come here.” He picked the cat up and slung him over his shoulder. “If you kiss me,” he said to Hamlet, “I’ll be able to figure out whether or not I’d be able to go any further. So get over here and do it.”  
Hamlet sat awkwardly for a moment, then swigged a mouthful of tea, got up, and took a few hesitant steps towards Horatio. Horatio scooped Xerxes up, put him on the floor, and then got to his feet. Hamlet met him as he rose, and then dryly pressed his lips to Horatio’s.  
The kiss was brief and unexceptional at first, but after a moment where he checked to see whether Hamlet was going to implode, Horatio opened his mouth a little, his chin jutting against Hamlet’s, and he was surprised when Hamlet followed suit. Horatio pulled away a little, but without really thinking about it, both moved in for a second. This one was deeper and longer, and Hamlet let his hand fall from Horatio’s shoulder to the small of his back as Horatio’s tongue explored his mouth.  
Hamlet let out a brief moan of pleasure before breaking the kiss. “You’re… good at that,” he observed. “You sure you haven’t done that before?”  
Horatio laughed. “Not with a guy, but lips are lips. Your chin is a bit pricklier than most of the girls I’ve kissed, but the basics stay with you.”  
Hamlet eased himself back into his chair and took another mouthful of tea. “And? What do you think?”  
“Not bad,” Horatio mused. “You reckon you could do that with me for an evening?”  
Hamlet traced a thumb across his lip. “Don’t get too many ideas, but… yeah.”  
Horatio grinned. “Don’t worry; our little secret. Listen, I’m happy to do it. Tell Ophelia we’re on.”  
“You sure?” Hamlet asked.  
“What?” Horatio responded. “You want another go in the name of the scientific method, or something?”

\---

Ophelia hummed contentedly to herself as she stirred sugar into one of the mugs of tea. “You take milk, don’t you? I always forget…” she called into the living room.  
“Yeah,” Horatio replied, stretching his legs out. He wasn’t sure where to put his jacket, and shifted it from his lap to the sofa beside him, then to the floor.  
“Put something on if you like,” Ophelia said, and Horatio could hear her clatter around in the kitchen briefly. He put his jacket back on the sofa, and got up to inspect the CD collection.  
“I’ve never heard of any of these bands,” he mumbled.  
Ophelia stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment. He paused with his finger on a CD, chewing on his lip, then finally pulled it from the shelf and switched the stereo on. The album started with a few gentle guitar strums, and Horatio closed his eyes, swaying a little as the drums came in.  
“Oh, ‘This Promontory’. Hamlet really likes these guys,” Ophelia said, and Horatio jerked, startled, out of his daydream.  
“Are we that similar?” he asked, coming to sit back on the sofa. He took the cup of tea from Ophelia’s offering hands, and sipped it quietly.  
Ophelia watched him relax. There was a pleasant, noble sort of look about him now, sitting in the sun. His jawline and the curve of his nose reminded her of Roman statues. Hamlet’s looks were more like a Greek statue - he was smaller, more concentrated in his beauty. “You’re not really alike,” she said. “But you complement each other very well.”  
“So you think we’d work well together this weekend?” Horatio looked at her impishly. “I was surprised when Hamlet said you had this tradition, but I’ll admit I don’t quite understand it fully.”  
She sighed, but out of contentment, Horatio thought, not out of exasperation. "Well, I don't think I've ever really felt like there was enough time in the world to find out everything about Hamlet," she said, "and never enough time for him to find out everything about me. We're like uncharted lands at times, undiscovered countries, and there are too many places in us for one person to ever discover."  
She drank her tea for a moment. Horatio listened to the music, and realised he liked the way her lips tightened at the edge of the mug, like a clarinettist's. It was the same sort of thing he'd realised the day before, watching Hamlet grip the cuffs of his jacket in his fists. Something cute, that he noticed without really chalking it up to anything. An awareness, nothing more - or at least nothing much more, before now. He tried to listen more, to understand what she was thinking.  
"I realised that what I wanted from my life was someone to help me explore Hamlet, and someone to help him explore me. And someone, too, that I could explore. I love him, but he's sort of become my home in some ways. Sometimes, I just want to get outside," Ophelia said.  
Horatio smiled. "Do you think I'm a land worth exploring?"  
"Hamlet seemed to think so," she said. "He was grinning like a madman when he came home, and seeing him that giddy - happy in a confused way - made me happy and giddy too. I think you two will be brilliant together."  
"I do wonder," Horatio said, "whether this will really be a one-time thing. Hamlet seemed to think it was, but the way you describe it... you don't want to explore me only once, do you?"  
Ophelia's smile faded a little. "I don't know," she admitted. "I would like there to be more, but I don't want to tell Hamlet about it. I want it to feel natural, like he decided to do it. Wait, that's wrong." She stopped, and tried again, pausing as if she was trying to use words that didn't exist yet. "I want him to turn around and find it waiting for him, as clearly as if there had never been any other situation that felt right."  
She had expected Horatio to get up and bolt from the room, terrified by the mere hint that she was suggesting he loved Hamlet, but instead he sat there, still sipping his tea, deep in thought. He began to nod, slow and careful.

\---

The dinner was good, and any doubts that any of them had held about the evening were quickly dusted over with light conversation. Horatio held out for about fifteen minutes on the research he was doing, quoting liberally from Horace, and then from Aeschylus, drawing connections between the two literary traditions like he'd read nothing else in his entire life. While this was going on, Ophelia's hand found its way to Hamlet's knee under the table, squeezed once, and then rested there for the whole of the main course. She managed to eat, pour Horatio another wine, tease Hamlet about the woman that had chatted him up at the bar where he worked, and compliment Horatio's new T-shirt.  
Hamlet evaded Ophelia's teasing with a practiced grace, talked about a rock opera that one of his friends was working on, and reminded Ophelia and Horatio about the time they'd visited Ophelia's brother, Laertes, in France, and how Hamlet had locked himself out of the flat that Laertes was renting. He complained a little about how Laertes had never forgiven him for waking him up at three in the morning by pelting his window with stones, considering Laertes had an exam the next morning.  
Ophelia recalled that, but what's more, she mentioned that the three of them had gone swimming near Calais as well. She seemed to have an eerily good memory for a drunken event two years earlier, remarking that they'd been skinny-dipping. "The first time I saw your ass, actually," she said to Horatio, who turned a little pale.  
"But not the last," Hamlet said, raising his glass. "I'll be honest, I'm kind of curious to see what it's like." He jokingly eyed Horatio up and down. "Not bad, so far."  
"You neither," Horatio responded, winking, "but a little shorter than most of the women I've been with."  
Hamlet blushed a little, and opened his mouth to complain, but instead downed his glass of wine and poured another.

It seemed appropriate for them to still be drinking when they got to the bedroom, so Ophelia pulled a third bottle of wine from the refrigerator, uncorked it and refilled Horatio's glass. The top button of Hamlet's shirt was already unbuttoned; he'd spilled some of the custard from dessert down his chest, while laughing at Ophelia's comments about the first time she'd got drunk. He'd taken the shirt off to wipe the collar down, and hadn't seemed too bothered about putting it back on.  
Now, Ophelia was sitting at the head of the bed, shoes kicked off in the corner of the room. Hamlet and Horatio were standing at the foot of the bed, Horatio a little further away.  
"Are you scared?" she asked, beckoning Horatio closer.  
"Not at all," he responded, although there was a slight quaver in his voice. Whether it was from nervousness or sheer excitement, Ophelia couldn't quite tell. Something to explore, she thought.  
Hamlet swung his foot onto the end of the bed and started unlacing his sneaker. Horatio interrupted him suddenly, stepping forward and pulling Hamlet's face to meet his own. The two of them stood there, kissing, and Ophelia appreciated the sight. She slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders, relishing the way that the fabric felt sliding over her skin. Hamlet looked at her, sidelong, and winked.

Hamlet was finding it difficult to get enough of Horatio. He tasted like wine and berries, and as Horatio traced his hands down Hamlet's back, Hamlet buried his face in the crook of Horatio's neck and inhaled. His shirt smelled like rainwater and fresh bread. Hamlet was suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, and pulled his head back to look Horatio in the eye.  
"You smell good," he mumbled.  
His friend laughed. "Thanks," he said. "You... you don't smell like anything, really."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, really. It's good. I like nothing," Horatio said.  
Ophelia giggled, low and relaxed. "Will you two spend the whole night smelling each other?"  
Hamlet broke away from Horatio and clambered onto the bed, prowling towards her. "Not likely. He's just one thing I'm interested in."  
He undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt, then ran one hand up her thigh, gently pressing at her crotch.

When Horatio had finished freeing himself from his jeans, he looked over to see Hamlet, now shirtless, his head moving gently between Ophelia's thighs. Horatio stood there for a moment, feeling a little self-conscious in his briefs and T-shirt, but he shook his head twice, clearing it, and crawled onto the bed.  
Ophelia seemed so carefree, he thought. The thought continued to run through his head as he kissed her, as he placed one hand on Hamlet's shoulder, guiding him to slip his tongue inside her. Deep in the back of Horatio's mind, he decided on something: he was going to be committed to keeping Ophelia this carefree.  
Ophelia rested her hand on Horatio's cheek and stared at him, curious and intent. She closed her eyes with a smile: Hamlet was clearly very good at what he was doing. Her hand slipped up into Horatio's hair, and she gently pushed him down until he was level with Hamlet. Hamlet pulled back briefly to kiss Horatio again, Ophelia's taste still on his lips. Horatio found it intoxicating, and dove in.

Hamlet rocked back on his heels, watching his best friend lap hungrily at Ophelia's vagina. Ophelia's eyes opened lazily, and she looked at him.  
"Go ahead, Hamlet," she said, and Hamlet got up, unbuttoned his jeans, and slipped them and his boxers to the floor. Getting onto the bed again, he rested a hand in the small of Horatio's back. Horatio didn't flinch. Assessing this, Hamlet shifted his hand to Horatio's ass, watching it clench gently through his blue briefs. Finally, Hamlet's hand arched between Horatio's legs and cradled what it found there.  
"Impressive," he muttered and, after a few deep breaths, he slid Horatio's briefs down. Horatio bucked up to allow Hamlet to slide them completely off, his ass rising into the air. Hamlet had to admit it was a pretty attractive sight. Without thinking, he pulled Horatio's underwear to his nose and inhaled, the same thing he did whenever he went down on Ophelia. Horatio had a bit of a musk to his scent, nothing unexpected, but Hamlet was imbued with lust for his friend. When the feeling ebbed back a little, he realised he wasn't entirely sure where to go from here. Maybe it was the wine, maybe he'd just been expecting this endgame for a while, but he had Horatio's briefs in his hand, and was licking his lips absent-mindedly looking at Horatio's dick bobbing lazily while Horatio went down on his girlfriend, and he felt an odd mix of happiness and emptiness.  
"I... um... huh. I don't know what to do," he said.  
Ophelia suddenly let out a quick moan, and shortly afterwards, Horatio sat up. "I think you know this better than I do," he offered, "but let's see." He pondered for a moment. "Maybe you should ask our audience if there's anything she'd like to see us do." He got up and fetched his glass of wine, sipping it while desperately trying to appear nonchalant.  
Ophelia shook her head. "Nothing I'd really like," she said. "I want you guys to have fun. You are having fun, right?"  
Hamlet nodded. "I'm just trying to figure out the mechanics of it," he said. "I don't know if Horatio wants to be fucked, or if you want him to fuck you. These are the conversations we didn't have."  
"I didn't want to have them," Horatio admitted, sheepishly. "I was too nervous, thinking about this. I'm loving it; I'm loving the both of you, here, with me. I... I want to have your dick in my mouth," he said to Hamlet, "and I want to be inside you, Ophelia, but mostly? Mostly I just want to be here."  
Ophelia rose to her feet, and her dress slipped to the floor. She stood there, naked and confident, not at all the reluctant beauty Horatio had thought she was when they'd first met.  
"I think we can do that," she said, simply.

\---

When Hamlet thought back on this, the first night that he and Ophelia and Horatio slept together, the memories came back to him fragmented. Towards the end of the night, he had coaxed Horatio to fuck him (just to try it out, he had said, but his reservations had diminished significantly after about two minutes). He'd shifted back and forward between the two of them, giving head first to Ophelia, then to Horatio. Ophelia had reclined at the foot of the bed, touching herself while Hamlet drove his dick into Horatio's throat in the corner of the room. Ophelia had straddled him, riding him relentlessly while Horatio sat, rock-hard and tracing his mouth across Ophelia's breasts.  
They had sprung from position to position, never really staying in one long enough to risk discomfort or boredom. They were all too excited, too driven by the fear that this might be the only time they ever allowed themselves this experience.  
If Hamlet had to pick a favourite moment from that night - which he did, Horatio often asking him that precise question - it came after the sex, after Ophelia had pulled her dress on, after Hamlet had taken the empty bottle of wine to the kitchen and surreptitiously scrubbed the semen from his stubble.  
The movie was 'Singin' in the Rain', and it was playing in the small hours of the morning, at three, maybe four. The three of them had retired to the sofa, ready to calm themselves enough to sleep. On the screen, Donald O'Connor was banging at a piano with his elbow. Hamlet's arm rested over Ophelia's shoulder, and she snuggled closer. Hamlet felt a hand drop gently to his thigh, and he turned a little, to see Horatio raise his eyebrows briefly, and then Horatio too was resting his head on Hamlet's shoulder.  
"You know something?" Horatio said sleepily. "I wasn't lying before. I'm loving both you guys. I love you both."  
Ophelia smiled, and said nothing at first, but then, her mouth close to Hamlet's ear, she replied "You too, Horatio. I'm glad you joined us."  
Hamlet's lips brushed briefly against his friend's, and he found himself serene, and wanting the movie to end so he could take them both back to bed.


End file.
